Enigma
by Ichireiro
Summary: When the Order of the Phoenix ends up staying at Malfoy Manor, new sides of Draco Malfoy are revealed, sides that only a select few have seen before. It was a shame Draco already had a boyfriend, though he didn't know it. Slash. DMTN DMHP
1. Invaded Privacy

**A/N: **Woo, another HP fic. I hope this one actually gets attention. Review if you think it should be continued.

**Warnings: **Silliness, curse words, slash, ect.

Enigma

If Draco Malfoy had to make a list of the things that irritated him, having his _privacy invaded_ would be somewhere between Harry Potter and fleas. So, as anyone could more than likely imagine, having the bloody Order of the Phoenix _invading his privacy _by being in his _house _was putting him in a foul mood. Not only _was_ his privacy being invaded in the process of them standing at the gates to the Manor, ready to just _waltz _right in like they belonged there, but _Harry bloody Potter_ just happened to be an Order member—shocker there, huh?—as did Remus Lupin, who Draco suspected of having fleas.

But, lets go back a bit, shall we? _Explain _why the Order just _happens _to be standing at the gates of the Manor?

For reasons that will be explained later, _much _later, the Malfoys had deemed it necessary to switch over to the light. In the end, it had just come down to one thing: Lucius Malfoy finally deciding to protect his family, and go to Dumbledore. It had been hard, switching over, but at least his family—along with his dignity and home, two other important things to him—was safe. The final push that Lucius had needed had been a drastic, dangerous one that had scarred his family worse than anything the man could ever do himself, but as mentioned, that certain event will come up later. For now, lets just focus on other facts; Lucius, as mentioned, got out with two things other than his family—his dignity and his home. For his dignity, it was because he no longer had to _grovel _to a madman. For his home, he had secured the wards around it before his ex-Lord could set up his base in it like he had wanted.

But now another group were about to set up camp in it, which wasn't really something Lucius wanted—who _would _want a group of people camped out in their house?—but it was a small price to pay for his family's protection. And, despite most people not realizing it, family was an important thing to a Malfoy, especially Lucius. He wanted his son to grow strong, prosper, and to lead his life, bringing even more pride to the Malfoy name, which wasn't something that he could do successfully with a mad man squatting in his house.

Albus Dumbledore's reasons for taking Lucius in were obvious, even though the man had an air of slyness about him. It meant one less Death Eater—two if Draco was counted, though he never really _had_ wanted to become a Death Eater—to worry about. Even more than that considering the Parkinsons, who had always been greatly influenced by the Malfoys, had become spies for the Order.

Another reason, one that Lucius _didn't _know about, revolved around the old Order headquarters. Malfoy Manor was in better shape than Grimmauld Palace, more lively, and, especially in Harry's case, didn't hold as many bad memories as the previous headquarters had. The Manor also had a contained basement, once kept for chaining up prisoners, that could be used as a facility to keep Remus in when he changed into his werewolf form. Besides, it also lacked Walburga's portrait; Albus could speak for the whole Order, he thought, when he said that no one would miss _that. _

So, what did all of that add up to? Draco Malfoy, irate, having to open the Manor gates, a sneer on his face, to let the Order of the bloody Phoenix onto the Malfoy property. His father had forbid him from making a house elf greet the guests, someone having warned Lucius—probably Dumbledore, Draco was guessing—that Granger would throw a fit if she saw an elf anywhere on the property, and Lucius himself wasn't going to do it; Draco knew that his mother was probably sunbathing at the moment and couldn't be bothered to do it either, leaving the job up to Draco. Draco prayed to Merlin that Pansy didn't get any ideas of dressing up as an elf the next time she was over just to cause trouble. The girl would do it, he knew. Then again, she would also take the outfit off as soon as he mentioned the fact that her ears were more pointy than usual, so there wasn't really anything to worry about.

Deciding that worrying about what Pansy might or might not do the next time she was over for a visit wouldn't help him get out of the situation he was currently in, Draco looked the Order members over, taking his time; it was his bloody house, he could make them wait if he wanted—they _had _been standing at the gate for a little over twenty minutes before Lucius had finally had enough and _ordered _Draco to go tend to them.

There stood Dumbledore himself in the front of the line, a twinkle in his eye. He didn't look any different from the last time Draco had seen him, the circles under his eyes aside; Draco had assumed that being the leader of the Order of the Phoenix would be tiring, so it came as no surprise to him that the man looked a bit wore out. Then again, he had never studied his headmaster up closely before, so he had no way of knowing if he had always looked so tired.

Behind Dumbledore stood a long line of people, some Draco recognized, some he didn't. Lupin and his cousin, Nymphadora Tonks, caught his eye almost immediately, but he didn't spend much time eyeing them. His gaze moved down the line until it finally stopped on the younger members of the group; Granger, her eyes studying everything, including him; the Weasley children looking as if they had never seen something as grand as his Manor—they weren't even _inside it _yet—which they probably hadn't; Saint Potter standing at the very end of the line looking as if it would kill him to move past the gates, which he probably thought it would.

"Right," Draco finally drew his gaze back to Albus Dumbledore, nodding as the elderly wizard said a polite hello. "This way."

Draco thought about the Order's youngest members as he walked, absentmindedly leading the group behind him up to the Manor, kicking a peacock out of the way as he walked leisurely along the trail that led up to his home; he could hear Granger begin to protest to the treatment of the bird, but the youngest male Weasley shut her up before she could start.

He didn't want to be friends with Potter and his gang, which, going by the twinkle in Dumbledore's eye, may have been what the old man wanted; take the sour, 'lonely' Draco Malfoy, and make him be friends with Saint Potter and the crew, soften him up a bit. Well, _that_ wasn't going to happen. Draco wasn't the least bit lonely—despite his family switching sides, he still had his closest friends—and even if he _was_, he would never resort to spending time with _Potter. _Besides, going by the look that Potter had on his face when Draco was examining him, the boy didn't want to be Draco's friend either.

That sparked a bitterness in Draco, one that had been there for years. He had always been attracted to power, to glory, to attention, to _greatness_, and Potter turning down his friendship before they had even been _sorted _had stung. Well, as far as Draco could see, it was Potter's loss. Draco had friends, better friends than Granger or Weasley could ever be, and he didn't need Saint Potter's company to be happy, even _if _Pansy claimed Draco had a crush on the scarred boy. As if. A few interesting dreams about him didn't mean that Draco had a _crush_, and even if it did, it wasn't like Draco would ever do anything about it; Potter was _far_ to Gryffindor for him. His stupidity might rub off on him, and Draco Malfoy did _not _want to be considered stupid. Or obnoxious. Or anything _else _remotely Gryffindor.

_"You can't always get what you want_

_You can't always get what you want_

_You can't always get what you want_

_But if you try sometimes, you might find_

_You get what you need."_

It was cold outside, the wind blowing and messing up Draco's hair, and he wanted to hurry and get the tour over with so he could go back in, but he stopped walking to dig out the cell phone from his pocket that was currently going off, knowing full well who it was that was calling him—Blaise Zabini.

Like Pansy, Draco had been friends with Blaise for years. Unlike Potter and his gang, Draco had grown up with his; because both Pansy and Blaise were pure-bloods, their families had known each other for years, Draco knowing the two for as long as he could remember. They had shared a crib together, learned their first spells together, ect. Really, Draco meant it when he thought that Potter's friendships would never run as deep as Draco's did.

There also happens to be another member of Draco's gang, Thedore Nott, that the other three children grew up with. Theo, as his friends called him, happens to be an important part of Draco's life, and will be brought up later. For now though, back to the story at hand.

And as for the fact that Draco Malfoy,_ pure-blooded, muggle-hating Draco Malfoy_ owns a cell phone? It was simple, really. Draco traveled a lot. He had been all over the world, as most aristocratic wizards his age had, and he had learned on his travels that muggle-made items _could _be useful at times. Luckily for him, his friends agreed, and Lucius let him get away with having a muggle device in their home.

Draco's ring tone had been loud, loud enough for the kids in the back of the line to hear. He knew that Mr. Weasley was eyeing his phone, a million questions about it going through his head. He knew that Potter and Granger were explaining what it was to him, along with his children. He could hear the youngest Weasley comment that the song just repeated the main lyrics, just like he could hear Granger chastise him, saying that it was a classic; he could also hear her asking both Potter and Lupin, both having been around muggles more than the Weasleys, to agree with her, which they both did. Draco wasn't paying much attention to them though, more interested in the conversation he was about to have with Blaise.

He had made sure not to say the name of the person he was talking to; let the Order, the nosey intruders, guess. Really, when had a little bit of mystery ever hurt anyone, anyway? Draco always _had _been one for drama.

"I swear to Merlin, if you _ever_ use my credit card again—"

Ah, credit cards; another useful muggle invention. Blaise had stolen his, thinking it would be funny to charge a whole Lamborghini—another muggle invention that Draco was found of—to it. Really, the things that boy thought was funny. Then again, it probably _would _have been funny if it hadn't been _his _credit card that Blaise had used. Besides, after his parents had finished reprimanding him, he had actually gotten to _keep_ the car, though he had to keep it at a flat he sometimes stayed at during the summer in France.

He could hear Granger and Potter trying to explain what a credit card was, but again he ignored them. He doubted that Arthur Weasley could understand what they were talking about anyway. The man had to be _daft_ if he had _seven _kids, and that was coming from someone in a family that cared about exactly that—family. That is, close family; he didn't care much for his cousins, Nymphadora Tonks being one of them.

"Yeah, yeah." Blaise cut him off before he could finish his sentence. Having known Blaise for years, he knew that the boy was probably rolling his eyes at him, just like he was probably making hand gestures as he said 'yeah'. Really, some people grew predictable over the years. Fortunately for him, Blaise wasn't one of them, and the boy could still shock Draco—even if his mannerisms couldn't. "You thought it was funny, I know you did. Besides, you never thanked me for the car."

Draco rolled his eyes, a habit he had either picked up from his father or Blaise. Or maybe Blaise had picked it up from him. He wasn't sure anymore, not that it mattered. He was a Slytherin; by law he was aloud to get an attitude with whoever he pleased, even if that meant one of his best friends.

"Thank you _so _much for the bloody car." His tone was slightly sarcastic, but he knew Blaise would ignore it. "It was one of the best gifts you've ever given me, right up there next to that book on how to have the perfect orgy." The sarcasm had almost disappeared by now—Draco really _did _enjoy _that _particular gift. "I'll make sure to put both of them to good use."

Draco Malfoy having a cell phone, credit card, car, _and _thanking someone? Potter and his crew were probably dying of shock, but Draco couldn't make himself care at the moment.

He could hear Blaise laugh on the other end of the line, a sound Draco didn't mind hearing. It wasn't as rare as Theodore's laugh, but it _was_ a pleasant sound to one's ears, unlike the laugh belonging to the female portion of their group.

"I'm sure you will. Knowing you, you'll probably try to have an orgy _in _the car."

Draco rolled his eyes again. Really, what kind of whore did Blaise think he _was_? That _did _sound a bit fun though...The wind was picking up more though, his hair which was hanging lose around his shoulders, not slicked back like he wore it at school, flying in different directions. He would have to contemplate having an orgy in his car later during his free time.

"Listen, as _fun_ as this conversation has been," His tone had went back to being slightly sarcastic, but Blaise knew that he didn't mind talking to him. "I really do need to go. I'll talk to you later."

Draco hung up his phone, stuffing it back into his trouser pocket, before Blaise could reply back to him. He knew that his friend would try to drag the conversation on, and he wished to be out of the Order's company as soon as he could.

Really though, why did the Manor have to be so large? The tour would be going on for a _while_.


	2. Slytherin Women

Draco had been walking for about half an hour when he finally came across his mother. He had been right thinking that she would be sunbathing; he found her stretched out on a lawn piece, clad in a bikini and sunglasses. He wasn't the only one in the family that had become attached to muggle devices; Lucius remained the only one out of the three of them who found them useless and a tad bit shameful to have in his house. Narcissa and Draco were both spoiled by the man though, and he usually gave in and gave them whatever they wanted whether it was a swimming pool—the Manor grounds only had one, which happened to be surrounded by Draco's wards, so people couldn't access it, excluding his parents, of course, unless he wanted them to; that included Order of the Phoenix members—or new tile for a floor in their home. Of course, no one would _guess _Lucius Malfoy spoiled his family, but he did. He just expected a few simple things in return; devotion, respect, all things that he received from both his son and his wife. Life was good for the Malfoys, the current war excluded. And, after the war, things would be even _better _than they were at the moment. The world would see. Lucius would pull his family higher to the top, even if it killed him. Which, considering he was in a bloody _war_, he might very well die. But that's a thought for another day.

Narcissa, as mentioned, was out on a lawn piece, lounging comfortably. Despite the fact that she had sunglasses on, Draco knew his mother well enough to know that she was gazing out at the horses grazing by the fence about sixty feet in front of her. Narcissa had always been fond of horses, though she didn't particularly like the _smell _of the things. She liked to be and smell clean—who didn't?—which is probably why she always bathed after she went riding; Draco, also having a thing for cleanliness, usually did the same. Pansy called them OCD. Really though, that girl just didn't _bath _enough, or else she would realize the beauty of it.

Speaking of Pansy though...

"Mother?"

He had approached her, the Order still following after him, as soon as he saw her. He didn't like the idea of them seeing her in a bikini—Lucius _definitely _wouldn't—and if Weasley or Potter said anything about it to him later, he would probably break their faces in, but it was too late; she was out in plain sight, Order members already spotting her, so why not go ahead and ask permission for something that had been on his mind all morning? Not that he _needed _to; his parents usually let him do whatever he wanted in the summer. Still though, he was a good son, and he would ask.

"Good morning, darling." She tilted her head to the side letting him know that he now had her full attention. Draco could hear someone behind him snicker when she said the word 'darling', probably the youngest male Weasley, so Narcissa could probably hear it as well. They both ignored it though; Narcissa had been calling that for as long as he could remember, whether it was in front of his friends, his father's business partners, ect. She would probably even call him that in front of the Dark Lord without thinking about it twice. "Did you sleep well?"

Draco loved his mother, he really did; his friends even went as far as to call him a mama's boy, which he supposed he was. It was okay though, because even if he wouldn't admit it, Blaise happened to be one too, and Pansy was daddy's little girl. So, despite the fact that it was getting colder by the minute, Draco was going to stand there and talk to his mother a bit, the Order be damned. It was what they got for moving into his home anyway.

Draco, not caring if he seemed rude for sitting down when he was supposed to be giving the people behind him a tour, pulled a chair out and sat down at the table that was resting by the lounger Narcissa was laying on. He could hear a few of the Order members—the Weasleys in particular—complaining about him making them stand outside in the cold longer, but he didn't care; maybe it would freeze their freckles off, and _then _maybe they'd be grateful. Really, not even giving Draco a simple thank you for letting them stay at his house, the ungrateful Weasels...

Draco nodded to his mother's question, finally answering it, momentarily forgetting about his question. His gaze slowly moved back to where they had been earlier—back to the horses grazing in the field. Maybe he should go for a ride later...

Hermione, still around the back of the line, was watching Draco, as was almost every other Order member; really, how often did you get to see a _Malfoy _look like _that_? Draco was deeply concentrated on something, Hermione's gaze following his and seeing that it was resting on a solid white mare in the field.

"I bet that's Draco's horse." She nodded towards the mare the youngest Malfoy was staring at, catching the attention of Harry—who, up until that moment, had also been watching Draco—and the Weasley's. "That one over there by the stables."

"Oh, so is it '_Draco_' now?" Ron's tone was agitated, as it usually was when speaking about the youngest Malfoy. Really, some things never changed, did they? "Why not just call him '_darling_'? I'm sure he'd like _that_, the bloody—"

"Ronald! What would you have me do? Call him by his last name? We're staying with the _Malfoys _now, Ronald. That means more than one! How are you supposed to know which one I'm talking about if I don't call them by their first names? Really Ronald, use your head."

Ron's face was beginning to get red, and Harry knew that a fight was about to happen. Not in the mood to listen to it, he cut Ron off before the redhead could bring up the fact that he didn't want to have to hear Hermione talk about _any _of the Malfoys for _any _reason unless it was to make fun of Narcissa's misshapen breasts. Because really, that would just make Hermione bring up the question of why Ron was even _looking._

"You really think it's his? I can't see him riding it. I can't even see him _petting _it. Malfoy being affectionate is kind of hard to picture, Hermione."

Of course, Hermione hadn't said anything about Draco actually spending time with the mare, but she was too engaged with her still on-going argument with Ron to listen to Harry. Really, when were the two just going to admit they were in love with each other? The fights were getting tired. Even without them snogging like they would be if they just _admitted _their feelings for each other, Harry was being ignored.

"Actually," Seeing that Harry was being ignored, Bill, who was standing by the three, took it upon himself to answer the kid. "It's common for pure-bloods to go riding." Not that Bill himself would know from experience. The Weasley's were too poor to afford horses, but he had some cousins—cousins nicer than the Malfoys—who had horses, and being pure-blooded himself, he knew the traditions, horse riding being one of them. "Someone from a family like the Malfoys is probably good at it. Maybe you could ask for lessons some time?"

Realizing that Bill had probably seen him staring at the youngest Malfoy, and that the man was probably just teasing him, Harry tried to laugh it off, ignoring the fact that Bill had _winked _at him when he made the suggestion.

"Right. Somehow, I don't think Draco would like that."

Bill was about to say that he doubted Draco would mind _that _much—Bill had his suspicions that the young man swung his own way, which was another common trait among pure-bloods, and Harry was quite the catch—but Ron, his rude baby brother, cut him off.

"Harry! Come on, you're gonna start calling Malfoy by his first name too, are you?"

The people discussing him were unaware of it, but Draco could hear what they were saying. It took quite a bit of control to stop the smirk that wanted to form from tugging on his lips, but Draco had long ago learned how to mask the emotions on his face. Really, he did _love _attention.

His attention finally snapped back to the conversation that he _should _have been having with his mother. Damn Potter and his friends for distracting him. If he got frost bite, he would blame them, even if it _was _a bit irrational. He didn't care though; he was sure most of the things in his life that went wrong, few as they were, were Potter's fault.

"Oh, Mother, I wanted to ask you something."

He drew his eyes away from the mare—Granger had been right, it _was _his—that he had been staring at to look back at his mother. A gust of wind blew though, distracting him once more, and he looked Narcissa over; as lovely as she looked—he was sure his father would really appreciate it—in the light pink bikini she had on, it wasn't proper for the weather that day, and he didn't want the woman to get sick.

"Shouldn't you go in? It's getting a bit chilly." Merlin, he really did sound like a mama's boy, didn't he? Blaise would make fun of him if he heard him, but at the moment, he didn't care. "You know Uncle would have to make a potion to make you better if you got sick, and you know how God-awful those things taste."

For as long as Draco could remember, he had called his godfather, Severus Snape, 'Uncle'. Really though, what else were you supposed to call someone who had babysat you until you were fourteen—although Draco wouldn't admit that he needed a babysitter for that long—practically raised you, taught you potions, ect.? A parent, he supposed, but that was what Severus pretty much was to him—a third parent.

Severus had been a friend of Lucius's since the two were in school, despite Severus being a bit younger than Draco's father. Draco couldn't remember a single birthday party or summer without the man being there. Severus knew the Manor better than he did his own home, Draco was sure, which wasn't that surprising considering the man usually spent most of his summers there, which was why he wasn't on the tour with the rest of the Order; considering the man already had his own _room _at the Manor, it would be unnecessary for him to take a tour of the place.

"I'm more worried about _you_ getting sick than I am myself." Draco looked down at what he was wearing; a white, button up shirt and charcoal colored trousers. It _was_ a bit light considering the wind, but the day was just abnormally cool. It was usually much warmer at Malfoy Manor during this time of the year, and Draco had expected it to be less windy, which was why he had wore his hair down. "Surely my attire isn't what you wanted to ask about though, is it? I know you better than that, Draco."

Narcissa knew her son well enough to know when he wanted something, just like she knew him well enough to tell that he actually _was _concerned about his health, though she could tell he would let the subject drop. Really, him and Lucius worried too much; she was a grown woman, for Merlin's sake, though it _was _nice to be reminded that her son loved her as much as she loved him. But, as mentioned, she knew he wanted something, just like she knew it probably had something to do with his friends, which was who Draco spent most of his time with.

Narcissa had always thought that her son had a good judge of character, which probably had to do with the fact that she liked all of his friends. All of his _actual_ friends, anyway. She could do without Crabbe and Goyle, who her son also wasn't particularly fond of, despite the fact that the boys had always hung onto him at school. Hopefully that would change when Draco went back for his seventh year; if it did, it would be one more bright side to switching to the light.

Out of Draco's friends, Pansy Parkinson was the one that Narcissa talked to the most. Her son had managed to keep the same three best friends for practically his whole life, so she had seen the three around the Manor a lot, but Pansy was the one that she spent the most time with. The girl was fun to gossip and shop with, which were two things that, even though he wouldn't admit it, Draco himself enjoyed doing. The girl was also one of the few people that Draco let touch him, Narcissa often seeing Pansy petting her son.

Next to come to Narcissa's mind was Blaise Zabini, the group's dark-skinned member. Narcissa, being friends with the boy's mother, had made sure to introduce Draco to Blaise early in their lives, causing the two to grow up together, not that they _minded._ They had a sense of humor similar to each other's that usually got them in trouble, but Lucius, like Narcissa was with Pansy, was rather fond of Blaise, though he wouldn't admit it, as far as Narcissa could tell, so the trouble didn't last _too_ long_._

Though Narcissa liked Pansy more than she did Blaise, and Lucius liked Blaise more than he did Pansy, they could both agree that Thedore Nott were their favorite of Draco's friends, despite Narcissa talking to Pansy more.

All in all, Draco was lucky. Most people, people who didn't really _know _her son, thought that he was emotionless and cold, but Narcissa knew that there _were _people he cared about. Draco had seven people in his life that Narcissa would say he really loved, and he was lucky to have most of them.

Draco still had both of his parents, who Narcissa knew he cared about. He also still had his godfather, Severus, who the Malfoys thought that they would lose when they switched sides. A happy shock—happy after the anger wore off, which really should have been expected from Severus considering he had _lied _to them for years—came to them when they found out that Severus was a spy for Dumbledore, so they wouldn't have to cut him out of their lives like they had one of Draco's other few loved ones—Bellatrix, Draco's aunt. Then came Draco's _friends_. Blaise, though he hated most 'blood traitors', as he called them, was still neutral when it came to the war, and was therefore still able to talk to Draco; besides, his mother was still Narcissa's best friend. Pansy's family had switched sides with the Malfoys, and that only left Theodore Nott, who was as much of an enigma as her son was.

"Actually, Mother," Draco's voice interrupted her from her thoughts, drawing her back to the conversation at hand. "I was hoping you and Father would let—"

Narcissa sat up, deciding to have a guess at what her son wanted before he could get it out himself. It was a game they played sometimes, guessing what the other wanted. They were both usually dead on, having spent so much time together over the years, but it was still fun to play, as easy as it was. Unfortunately for Narcissa, today was just her day, game wise.

"You go to that party you mentioned yesterday? You know I don't mind, Draco, but your father would want you to finish your chore—" She meant giving the tour, which was the only chore Draco would probably have the whole summer. "before you go. You know how he gets, especially about parties. Wait until you finish up here, then you can go. Just make sure you don't drink too much. You know how much your father hates it when you come down to breakfast hung over."

Parties were a normal thing for the Malfoys to be invited to, though Lucius and Narcissa were usually invited to things like ball-room dances while Draco, though he got those invitations as well, usually went to parties that most teenagers either go to or dream about going to; parties with girls—in Draco's case, boys—music, and alcohol, ect.

This time, despite the fact that he _was _invited to a party—though it actually happened to be a costume party that wasn't for another week—that wasn't actually what he wanted.

"Actually, Mother—"

Draco was cut off once again, though this time it wasn't by his mother; it was by Pansy, of all people. Really though, he shouldn't have been surprised.

"I should have known I'd find you slacking off and making your guests wait around for you to get your lazy arse up."

If it was any of Draco's other friends that had said the word 'arse' around his mother, he would have scowled at them. Pansy was his mother's favorite though, so she got a get out of jail free card. Blaise on the other hand though...That boy needed to watch his mouth sometimes. Draco just considered himself lucky that Theodore had enough sense not to curse—words, of course, not spells—around either of his parents. Good ole Theo, the only one with bloody _manners. _

Draco rolled his eyes, not needing to turn his head to look at the new arrival to know who she was. Really, that girl. Both her and Blaise needed to learn some manners. They had been around Theodore their whole lives, yet somehow, he hadn't managed to rub off onto them. Both of them just _waltzed _into his house liked they bloody _owned _it all of the time. Of course, all three of them had their own keys to the front door, had their own room, and were some of the few people permitted—the others being his parents and Severus—aloud past the wards of Draco's section of the house, though that was a bit necessary considering their rooms were _in _his section of the house; Draco was ignoring those little facts at the moment though, instead pretending to be irritated that Pansy just waltzed right in before he could ask permission. But, as mentioned before, he didn't really need it. The girl pretty much had permission to come over whenever she wanted.

"And I should have known to ask _yesterday _if you could come over instead of waiting a few hours before you were supposed to arrive. I should have known that you would just show up unexpected, as usual. And here I thought I knew everything."

Of course, he really _should _have known. He could have guessed it, of course, but he was so used to her coming over, he sometimes forgot to ask. His father, the man loving respect as he did, would usually get irritated at him when he forgot, but considering Pansy practically lived with them, it wasn't that big of a deal. Lucius would get over it. Eventually.

"Lighten up, darling." Again, laughing could be heard, presumably from Weasley. "You really could use a break from being so sour. No wonder you barely have any friends."

Again, that same laughter could be heard. Pansy was either ignoring it or didn't hear it though, because she didn't say anything. Knowing how easy it was to set her off, Draco was guessing it was the second option. He knew she would throw a fit if she heard one of the Gryffindors laughing at him.

As loath as Draco was to admit it, he was sort of the group's...pet. Though it went unspoken, he was the thread that tired all of them together, though they all _did _care for each other in their own way. He was the center of the group, like he supposed Potter was of his. He was the most loved, the one they spent the much individual time with, and the one that was protected the most, though he personally thought that Pansy needed the protection considering she was the weakest member of the group; Draco wasn't calling her _weak _though; the girl was downright _scary _sometimes when she was angry, especially when it concerned someone doing something to Draco. Which is why Draco had doubt that she heard Weasley laughing.

"Maybe I don't have many friends because I hang out with _you _all of the time. Maybe you're a bad influence on me."

He didn't mean it, of course. He wouldn't trade Pansy for anything, and she knew it. The bite in his tone wasn't there, and even if it _had _been, the hands he could now feel on his shoulders, the hands that were trying to rub away his tension, would still be there. Pansy could be called both annoying and clingy, but Draco thought of her as 'determined'. She's one of the few people, the other being his mother, who could get him to open up when he's in one of his moods, and she knew it, the bitch. Being persistent really did help, at least in her case. If it didn't, he would never open up. Luckily for both of them, that wasn't the case.

"Oh, _please_," She sounded exasperated, as if what he said was truly shocking. "If anyone's a bad influence, it's Blaise. That boy has gotten me into the habit of saying 'that's what she said', which _isn't _something that I ever wanted to say with my father in the room."

Pansy may not have much shame, a trait that luckily hadn't rubbed on Draco over the years...much, but, as mentioned earlier, she _was _daddy's little girl. So, the image of shock on her father's face, a man that Draco grew up around, as his precious little girl said _that_ was just too funny; he had to smirk, a smirk that she noticed and swatted him for, of course. He didn't care though; Pansy's father was still getting over the fact that his daughter was a lesbian, the poor man didn't need to hear any 'that's what she said' jokes coming from the girl. Still, it was funny.

"That's not funny, you prat!" Pansy's hands had stopped rubbing his shoulders; instead, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, an easy feat since she was standing up behind him. "At least I cheered you up a bit though. I don't know what your father was thinking, making you baby-sit..." If Draco had to guess, he would say that Pansy was pausing to sweep his eyes over the still-waiting Order members, though he couldn't see her. "..them."

She bent her head down to place a small kiss on one of his earlobes, a spot he enjoyed being kissed at, before letting go of him. She moved into his line of sight, this time to bend her head down to place a kiss on his mother's cheek. He relaxed back into his seat, his eyes staying on the two most important women in his life, and watched as his friend hugged his mother, who patted her on the arm.

Pansy had a crush on his mother, which Draco had known for years. Narcissa herself knew, along with Lucius, but she didn't let it bother her, though Lucius allowed himself an eye-roll whenever the girl wrapped her arms around his wife. Draco didn't let it bother him though, knowing that the girl would never try anything with his mother; she respected his father too much. Besides, he couldn't blame her. Narcissa _was _beautiful.

Draco took the time to take in Pansy herself. Her hair was, like his, down today. Her attire consisted of a green and black skirt that came down a little past her thighs, a button up black shirt with a green tie, and white tights. She was pretty in her own way, despite what a few certain Gryffindors thought of her. If he wasn't gay, he might even be attracted to her.

Drawing himself from his thoughts, Draco slowly rose to his feet. He stretched, raising his arms over his head, ready—though he still didn't want to—to continue his tour. He was almost done with the outside of the house, anyway, he might as well get the show over with. Besides, the quicker he was finished, the quicker he could get away from the Order of the bloody Phoenix.

"Darling," Apparently his mother wasn't finished with him yet. At least Pansy had unwrapped herself from Narcissa, now placing herself in Draco's previous seat. "Is that all you wanted? For your friend to come over?"

Draco nodded, lowing his arms. He knew he should warn his mother of his _other _guest later before the idiot just showed up though.

"Blaise should be coming over later, if that's all right."

He knew that it would be, of course, but still, it was good to be polite about it. His mother nodded, the words "Of course" escaping her lips, before he nodded return and set off to give the rest of the bloody tour.


	3. Smitten

Draco finished up the rest of the tour of the outside of the Manor in less than half an hour, a fact for which he was grateful for. His feet were beginning to hurt, his hair was a mess, his skin was chilled, he was tired, and he was beginning to get grouchy. It was beginning to become too late to be considered morning anymore, and Draco had wasted his away showing the Order of the Phoenix around his yard. He had woken up dreading the day, and he was usually right when it came to guessing whether or not he would be having a good or bad day, ignoring the few rare occasions when something unexpected would happen.

Like today, for example.

He had been giving the tour of the inside of the Manor for about ten minutes when he came across a set of stairs that lead up to a wooden door. He had dreaded this part, knowing that Gryffindors were nosey creatures by nature, and he knew that as soon as he told the Order to stay away from the door, Potter and his gang would put exploring what's behind it on the top of their list of things to do. Draco didn't care though. Let them try to get past the door to his quarters, he decided. It would be funny when the doorknob literally blew up on them.

He was about to move on, wanting to get the tour over as soon as possible, when he heard a voice he immediately recognized as his father's call his name. He turned his head to the side in time to see the man exit a door leading down a stairway on the opposite side of the one he had just told the Order to stay away from—Lucius was exiting his own quarters.

Lucius and Narcissa shared a room, of course. Draco had one-third of the house to himself, Lucius and Narcissa had one-third, and guests had the other third. Draco's part of the house, along with Lucius and Narcissa's, had a set of wards on them that kept out intruders, which is why Draco's doorknob would blow up if Potter and his crew tried to get into Draco's rooms—because they were unwelcome. Pansy's, Blaise's, and Theodore's rooms were all in Draco's part of the house, not the guest part of the house, and Severus had his own quarters in a cottage outside of the Manor by the forest that was on the edge of the Malfoy's property, to his own request—a cottage that Draco had neglected to show the Order. The man was owed his privacy, even if Draco had lost a bit of his. At least the Order couldn't invade his quarters though; they would be staying in the middle section of the Manor, the section that was made for guests.

"Draco," Lucius came down the stairs slowly, his hand on the rail, a look on his face that let Draco _know _he was irritated, even if he didn't want their guests to know it. "You can go. I'll take over from here." Draco knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially when it concerned his father, so he just nodded his head, ready to excuse himself. If the man wanted to take over, then Draco wasn't going to ask _why_, although it probably had something to do with how long Draco was taking. Or maybe Lucius just didn't want to do the first part of the tour outside, afraid his hair would look like Draco's probably did at that moment because of the wind; Draco raised a hand unconsciously to flatten his hair down. Either reason wouldn't surprise him. "You have a _guest _waiting for you in your room."

Oh, well, that explained it. Draco could probably guess what had happened. As much as his father liked Blaise, he wasn't always in the mood to put up with the boy. That, plus the fact that the way his father had said 'guest', he could tell Lucius was irritated that he hadn't been informed they had a guest—other than the Order, that is—coming over. He would be even more irritable when he found out that Pansy was in their home.

Draco nodded once more to his father, turned, and went up the stairs to his own room, not once casting a single glance back at the Order of the Phoenix. He didn't want them to get the idea that he actually _wanted _them there, after all.

The stairs had led up to the wooden door, which Draco entered slowly, expecting Blaise to pop out of a corner somewhere; the boy would probably do it if he thought it would scare Draco. The door, which he shut quickly, not wanting the Order—Potter, Granger, and the Weasleys in particular—to see what was inside, led to a spacious room. The room had another set of stairs that he walked up slowly, still wary of Blaise. He finally made it up them though, turning down a hallway. He stopped at the first door, paused, and entered it without knocking; it _was_, after all, _his _room_._

His eyes narrowed at the sight that greeted him; Blaise flipping through his CD collection—another useful muggle invention—while Pansy dug through the clothes in his closet. He didn't mind, despite how much he enjoyed his privacy, which might have had something to do with the fact that Blaise had bought at least two-thirds of the CDs in the collection, and Pansy had picked out at least half of the clothes; and Draco had a _lot_ of CDS and clothes.

"_What_, may I ask, are you two _doing_?"

Neither one of his friends bothered to look up from what they were doing, despite both of them having similar looks of boredom on their faces. It wasn't surprising though, considering they had been through his items dozens of times.

"Waiting for you to come back from babysitting duty." Pansy still didn't look up from where she stood digging through his clothing. "You need to go clothes shopping, Draco." Draco wouldn't admit it, but he agreed; his clothes would be going out of style in about a week, and if it was one thing Draco knew about, it was style. "Where's Theo?"

Blaise, who had pipped up saying that Draco needed new CDs when Pansy told the blonde that he needed new clothes, sat down on Draco's bed. Draco, his feet still hurting, sat down beside him before he laid back and stretched. Pansy, finally growing completely bored of Draco's clothing—he hadn't had a chance to buy anything new since the two last went shopping together—eventually joined them, sitting so Draco was between them.

"Merlin knows. He's probably off reading somewhere."

Theodore was considered the clever one of the group, though Draco considered himself smart. Theodore though...Draco was sure that the boy could give Granger a show for her money if he would actually raise his hand in class and participate; Theo was too quiet though, not caring for the attention it would cause.

Theodore Nott. What could one say about Theodore Nott? The boy was as hard to figure out as Draco himself was. An enigma. Of course, the three children on the bed knew the boy better than anyone else did, his own father included.

Take him once being suicidal, for instance. It had been back in fourth year when Theodore had tried to kill himself, and it had been Pansy and Blaise standing there, just like it had been them watching Draco talking Theodore into stepping away from the Astronomy Tower edge. They had tried to help, of course, but in the end, it was Draco. In the end, it was always Draco that they listened to. That's what being the leader meant, after all.

Of course, it had taken a lot to get Theodore down. Draco had to open himself in a way that he still isn't entirely comfortable with, had to tell Theodore that he _needed_ him, that if it wasn't for him, he would be getting into all sorts of trouble. That he loved only a handful of people in the whole bloody _world_, and Theodore was lucky enough for him to be one of them, for the great and cold Draco Malfoy to give a damn about him, so he really shouldn't waste his life when such a wonderful person cared about him. Of course, those weren't Draco's _exact_ words—he was trying his best to be selfless, trying not to be vain—but that was the gist of it. And, luckily for all of the children involved, it worked.

"We should find him and go shopping."

That was Pansy, of course. Draco knew the moment he saw her digging through his clothes that she would want go go shopping. Too bad _he_ wasn't in the mood. Maybe he would be later, but for now, he just wanted to sleep. Of course, Pansy wouldn't be very happy with _that_.

"He looks tired. You should let him take a nap."

Good ol' Theo, always looking out for him; they all did in their own way, but Theodore took the greatest care when it came to him. The boy always made sure he ate, even when he was bothered about something and wasn't hungry because of it. Even when he was throwing a temper tantrum. Even when Draco got smashed—and Draco, though he hated to admit it, was an obnoxious drunk; maybe there was a little Gryffindor in him after all; Draco was sure it was from having classes with them for six years.

Draco, not wanting to sit up all of the way, raised up to lean on his elbows to look at the boy. He must have left the door open; he didn't hear Theodore come in. There was a book in his hands—something on _unicorns_, of all things, going by the looks of it, though he couldn't remember the Manor having anything on such a subject—which proved Draco's theory that he had been in the library. Although why he was reading a book about _unicorns,_ Draco wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Theodore, for reasons that will be mentioned later in the story, had been staying with the Malfoys since the second week of the summer; it was now the fourth. Even before he had moved in for good, Theodore had spent so much time visiting Draco that he had become accustomed to living with the boy, not to mention the fact that they shared a dorm room together at Hogwarts. He could tell just by looking at Draco when the boy needed sleep—when you lived with someone who tended to hex people when they were tired, it became a good thing to know—and now was one of those times.

Pansy and Blaise looked at each other, simultaneously rolled their eyes, and stood. It wasn't the first time they had been kicked out of the blonde's room so he could sleep, just like it wasn't the first time they had been kicked out by Theo. They knew from experience that it was better to just leave on their own then to wait until he got irritated with them; Theodore Nott was not the type of person you wanted irritated with you.

"All right, _Mom._"

Pansy had muttered it to him as she moved past him, but he knew not to let it get to him; she could be the same way over Draco at times. That didn't mean that he would just let it go though.

"Thanks, _Dad._"

He could hear a muffled sound coming from behind him where he knew she stood, and he knew without looking that Blaise had covered her mouth with his hand; the sound of someone being dragged away could be heard. No doubt they would go swimming in Draco's pool while the boy slept the day away. It was a good thing, he supposed, that he wasn't feeling very social at the moment; while Draco slept and the other two splashed around in a pool, he could go to his room and read. As soon as he saw Draco's mouth open to say something, he knew _that_ idea was ruined, not that he minded too much; Theodore never minded much when it came to doing something Draco asked of him, especially when it was something like what he _knew_ was coming.

"You look God-awful, Nott. You could use some sleep."

Draco shuffled over to one side of the bed—it was Draco's side, the side he always slept on when he shared a bed with someone—giving Theodore some room to lay down. Theo knew that he probably _did_ look awful—he had trouble sleeping most nights—but he could see past what Draco was saying; he knew the boy well enough to know when he was asking someone to lay with him. It didn't happen often, happening less and less as they all got older, but on rare occasions Draco _did_ like to lay with people. Of course, his mother aside, him and Pansy were the only ones he would do it with anymore; Blaise lost his right to lay with Draco—a privilege, considering how often it _doesn't _happen—when he made the mistake of calling it 'cuddling'. It was his mistake and Theodore's gain though, as far as he was concerned, seeing as how one less person for Draco to lay with meant that he had more of an opportunity to fill that spot.

It wasn't that Theodore was starved for physical attention; the boy didn't usually like being touched at all. He knew that Draco had flaws, as did everyone, but there was something about him that made Theodore want to reach out and touch him. Maybe it was because he was bisexual and Draco was walking sex on legs. Maybe it was because he was thankful for Draco saving his life a few years back. Or maybe, and this was the most likely cause, it was because he had been in love with the boy laying on the bed for as long as he could remember. Whatever the reason was, Theodore nodded to his friend, placed his book down on the table by his side of the bed—this had happen enough times over the years for the table to be considered his in his mind—and laid down beside the blonde.

Draco himself enjoyed physical contact. It had been that way for as long as he could remember. Of course, after knowing him for years, his friends were aware of it. They each knew what he needed and how to give it to him, each in their own way.

With Pansy, it was affection. Draco, though he didn't like to admit it, _did_ enjoy being petted, especially when he was tired or depressed. It was best for her to stay away from him when she was angry though, which is where Blaise's skills were necessary.

With Blaise, it was violence. He knew how that sounded—it sounded as if he was in an abusive relationship with the boy or something. It was different than that though, of course, though it _was_ rather one sided. Draco, when angered, had no problems with striking out at someone; it was exactly _who_ he was hitting that was the problem. He would never hit his parents—Narcissa was too deliciate, and Lucius was _not _the type of man you wanted to hit—or Pansy, but he realized early on that he needed a _release_. Which is where Blaise came into play.

After being chastised badly by his father for losing a Quidditch game to Potter back in their second year, Draco had finally lost it, finally lashing out at someone; it had been a tough week, the older boys on the team pressuring him to win, along with a certain incident involving Marcus Flint that won't be explained until later, and he couldn't take it anymore. He finally blew up and struck out at someone—that someone being Blaise.

Blaise hadn't reacted in the way that Draco had expected to him. The very second that he had realized what he had done, who he had hit, he began to panic, though he tried his best to hide it. It didn't matter though; Blaise grabbed him by the wrists, pinned him to the door of their dorm room, and stared at his face for a long moment, trying to catch his gaze; the boy always _had_ been stronger than him, so it came as no surprise he could pin Draco so easily.

After what felt like forever for Draco, Blaise finally let him go. He turned his back to his friend, a quiet "Just warn me next time" escaping his lips, before he went about looking for a chess board for them to play with as if nothing unusual had happened.

From then on, Draco had went to Blaise when he was angry. The dark-skinned boy would usually let him get one good swing in, grab his wrists, pin him to a flat surface, and wait for Draco to calm down. Potter aside, Draco couldn't think of one person who he had mindlessly struck out at after that, and Potter didn't really count considering they hated each other.

Theodore was a mix of both of them, plus something more. Though Draco didn't realize it, if he ever struck out against the boy, he wouldn't hit back. And as for affection...The affection was mixed in with the thing that made them physically closer than Draco had ever been with any of his other friends.

To put it bluntly, they were shag buddies. It was more than that though, and they both knew it. Draco didn't know the extent of Theodore's feelings for him—though both Pansy and Blaise suspected it, they weren't going to be the ones to tell him, at least not any time soon—but he felt connected to the boy more than he had ever with anyone else he had been intimate with. Theodore took more time prepping him, more time touching him, more time _being_ with him, than anyone else he had ever been with had. Of course, he just thought that Theodore Nott was like that with _all_ of the people he took to bed with him, as few as they were; he didn't realize that it was just _him _who got special treatment. Not that he would mind if he had; Draco had always been a fan of special treatment, at least when it was aimed at him.

Draco went to him when he needed a kind of affection Pansy couldn't give him, a kind that he wouldn't receive from one-night stands. So, as it isn't hard to imagine, they were physically close, which is why it didn't feel odd for Theodore to wrap an arm around Draco's waist, place a kiss on the boy's neck, and press up against the warm body laying beside him.

Theodore waited for Draco's breath to even out, telling him the boy was asleep, before he sat up and began to read his book. He couldn't concentrate on the pages though, his eyes wondering over to Draco's form instead.

Theodore Nott was smitten.


End file.
